


a simple fix

by the_other_lutece_sister



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, everything hurts and nothing makes sense, propunk but not the fun kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: Sarah confronts Rachel after the events of S.5 E.8 (heavy spoilers for that episode)





	a simple fix

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again, it's obvious  
> Here we go again, the two of us  
> We've just become our worst mistakes  
> The rattles off two rattlesnakes  
> The antidote that no one takes  
> So here we go again  
> -simple fix/aimee mann

The light outside blinked, and so did Rachel. Red, green, red, green, open, close, open, close. She wondered if she was dreaming, or if it was just the drugs.

It looked like a dream, certainly. The blinking lights, the drift of her mind.

She turned her hand over in her lap, so the palm faced upwards, stared at it for a while. There was a sound, very quiet, like someone crying in a far off room.

Maybe it was her.

She lifted a hand up to her cheek.

No. It wasn’t her.

 

Red, green, red, green, red -

 

Rachel lay her head down and closed her eye. Something was swimming in the deep pool of her mind, sleek and sharp, but that wasn’t her. Not right now. If she could sleep, she could wake up. Shape herself into a point again. This was the progression of things.

 

The next moment, or hours later, there was a muffled bang, and then the bed was shaking, there were hands on her, gripping her shoulders, tight, and her voice came out slurred as she tried to protest

 _no, no, don’t touch me, no,_ knowing it was useless, he’d come back to finish the job, she should have just left…

 

She blinked rapidly, and so did the lights, red, green, over her face, looking at her, eyes black.

No, wait, it was _Sarah’s_ face.

The relief swam through her veins and let her push the hands off her.

 

“What,” Rachel said, voice distant, “what are you doing here. Sarah.”

 

She struggled to sit up, managed it as the bones solidified in her arms. Sarah stood at the foot of the bed now, fists clenched like she wanted to punch Rachel very hard, trembling like it took an effort not to. Her face was streaked with black tears. Rachel stared at her, one eyed, and something clicked inside her mind.

_oh_

She wanted water but that would have to wait.

 

“Siobhan.” She didn’t question, just said the name and let it hang there.

 

Sarah nodded, chin jerky. Her eyes were fixed on Rachel, as if daring her to get up and run, as if that was something Rachel would do. That was Sarah’s problem, always assuming that others were like her. And what was Rachel’s problem?

She lifted a hand that was barely trembling and touched her neck lightly. There were probably bruises. She saw Sarah’s eyes flick down and her hand raise up to her forehead, and then she half turned away.

“Jesus, fuck...” She was crying again, ugly snotty crying, and Rachel was vaguely aware that she should say something, but what could she say.

_I’m sorry._

Sarah would spit in her face.

But was she?

Rachel dragged her mind up and in, until it sharpened. A brief bout of pain hit her, like thorns in her eye socket and she gritted her teeth until it passed.

Was she sorry?

Siobhan had helped her. To assist herself, of course, but she could respect that. She had looked at Rachel like she was a person.

When was the last time anyone had done that.

 

On the whole, Rachel decided, she was sorry. Possibly she would be less sorry when the drugs eventually wore off and the world was sharp again. But that would be later. Here, in this dark hotel room with the blinking lights, she could be sorry. There was no one to see, no one but Sarah, and she wouldn’t believe it anyway.

So.

 

“Sarah.” Her voice was firmer now, just enough. She turned her head slightly, fixing the shaking mess with her eye. Sarah rubbed her eyes with her hands, sniffled, paced at the foot of the bed, like she couldn’t stop moving because then it would be too real.

For a moment Rachel saw the bones of Kira in her face, the way her mouth moved in misery.

She touched a finger to her wrist. The woven bracelet was still there, hidden under the soft grey wool of the sweater she wore. She wondered if it would make Sarah more likely to believe her. Her hand dropped back on the bed.

 

“Sarah. I am sorry.” She was still hoarse, and she thought it might make her sound more sincere. She was so thirsty.

 

Sarah stopped pacing, her head snapped around and she stared at Rachel for a moment, that stretched into silence - the kind of silence you get in hotels like this. The hum of traffic below, the underwater-sounding voices, distant banging of various kinds.

 

“Sorry? _You’re_ sorry? You’re _sorry_.” Sarah laughed, humorlessly, bitterly. The lights blinked on her face, red-green, making the black streaks look like war paint. “This was _your_ bloody fault, Rachel, you _bitch_. You set that sick creep after my mum and now she’s...” She stopped, sobs making her shoulders shake, and Rachel felt the bed vibrate as she kicked it.

 

Rachel clasped her hands on her lap, looked down at them. She was sure she could still see blood in the cracks of the skin. _How symbolic,_ a voice in her mind said mockingly, _how very Shakespearean._ She cleared her throat a little.

 

“No. I warned her. After he -” She lifted one hand, touched her neck again. She didn’t look away from Sarah’s face as she tilted her head a little. “Is he…”

 

A grimace crossed Sarah’s face, a sort of twisted pride.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s dead. She shot him in the throat. The fucking _bastard_.” She was still crying, tears just slipping from the corners of her eyes like tiny streams, like they would never stop.

Rachel nodded, once.

 

“Good.” Her chest was flooded with some sort of intense feeling. She examined it, the shape of it, and decided it was relief. Possibly a little gratitude as well. She smoothed it out. Put it away. She nodded again, and repeated it, quieter this time. “ _Good_.”

 

Sarah kept staring at her, red, green, black, eyes searching for something in Rachel’s face. She wrapped her arms around herself, sniffled again. Then she started walking around the room, opening cupboard doors and banging them shut again.

 

“Bloody hell, isn’t there _any_ booze in this place?” She was all anger and mascara streaks, letting the rage take over the grief. Rachel knew. Anger was better.

 

A thought slowly surfaced in her mind. She and Sarah. Both orphaned again. It was almost funny. Wasn’t it?

 

There was clink of glass as Sarah finally found what passed for a mini-bar here, a few tiny bottles that fitted in her hand. She unscrewed the cap off the bourbon and emptied it down her throat, shuddered, then did the same with the tiny vodka. She circled back over to the bed, flipping the last two bottles over and over in her hand.

She held the little gin bottle out to Rachel, raised her eyebrows.

 _What are you doing here, Sarah_ , she thought, but raised her hand and took it. The glass was cool and smooth and she stroked it with one finger, seeing the martini glass, feeling it as it...pain bloomed and she closed her eye and tried to keep her face blank. When she opened her eye again, Sarah was staring at her with the exact expression that Rachel did not want to see, a kind of resentful pity.

 

Her hand had tightened around the bottle and there were ridges on her palm from the metal cap. She watched as they filled back up with blood, then cracked the lid open. The gin was cheap and tasted medicinal. It hit her empty stomach and spread out like a fire.

 

The bed dipped a little, and she looked up in some surprise. Sarah was sitting, half turned away from Rachel, staring at the lights blinking through the window, red, green, red, green, as she twisted the bottle cap open, closed, open, closed. It was brandy, Rachel thought, or maybe scotch. Not that it mattered, not that she cared.

 

“I could have killed him, y’know. Before this.” Sarah’s voice was quiet but clear enough. She kept looking straight ahead, like she was in a confessional booth. “I could have let M.K blow him up. I _should_ have. Bloody fucking hell. She was so. She had him _trapped_ , and I...I talked her out of it. Why the hell did I do that? I should have walked away and let her do it, I…” She tipped the bottle, swallowed, grimaced. “Then she’d still be here, and S....” Her voice broke. She wiped a hand across her face and then drank the last of the brandy. Or scotch.

 

There was silence again. Rachel took another sip of the horrible gin.

 

“What are you gonna do now?” Sarah asked her. “Target on yer back now, right?” Her hands tapped on her knees, one leg bounced. Rachel could feel it through the mattress.

She lifted a shoulder.

 

“I...have plans.” This wasn’t a lie. There wasn’t much point in amassing a secret nest egg if you didn’t have ideas of how to use it. There were places she could go, people she could...utilize. If needed. Neolution and DYAD would fall, and burn, and she would rise from the ashes, and that was the progression of things.

Oh. Rachel remembered something that Dr Coady had said, back when Rachel still _believed_. She rolled it around her mouth and decided yes. It would make Sarah go away and the bed would stop shaking and making her nauseous. She would run into the night, hero-brave, sister-soft.

 

“Sarah. Neolution wants Helena. Her children.” She lifted the little bottle and tipped it on its side, narrowing her eye. A little left. She drank it. The bed creaked, then grew still again as Sarah shot to her feet.

The tiny empty scotch-or-brandy bottle hit the wall with a thud, and dropped to the carpet as Sarah turned and looked at her, eyes looking bruised.

 

“Like they wanted Kira.” she said flatly, something in her face stabbing at Rachel, just because she was _there_.

 

“Mm,” Rachel said. She really needed some water. When would Sarah leave so she could stumble across the cheap carpet to the bathroom, drink from the tap, why not. There was no one to see. She was so _thirsty._

 

“Shit,” Sarah sighed, pushing her hair back. It was wilder than usual, Rachel finally noticed, standing out from her head. The room was darker now and Sarah wore black and all Rachel could see was her pale black-streaked face in the red-green-red-green light. She opened her mouth again but nothing came out and she dragged her eyes from Rachel and headed towards the door, pulling her phone from her jacket pocket.

 

Then she was gone, the door pulled shut behind her so softly that Rachel didn’t hear it. Good. Sarah Manning gets to save the day, and Rachel gets to be alone. She lifted a hand, touched the gauze over her eye, swallowed on a dry throat, measured the distance to the bathroom.

 

A glass of water was a simple fix. First things first.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, thanks even more for kudos and/or comments!


End file.
